


Maybe "circles" will be their "okay"

by koritsimou



Series: To find more [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koritsimou/pseuds/koritsimou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is working; Parnasse is bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe "circles" will be their "okay"

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a beautiful unfinished [Jehan](http://pembroke.tumblr.com/post/42511112784/i-like-this-jehan-face-but-dont-feel-like) of Alexa's. Somehow a comment of "I like his face" turned into this little scene.
> 
> Set in the same universe as [Amalgam](http://archiveofourown.org/works/662403), but some time before.

Jehan is working when he hears Parnasse let himself into the flat. He’s back much earlier than normal. Whilst usually a pleasant surprise for Jehan himself, an early finish does not usually make for a happy Parnasse. The angry crash when Parnasse tosses his keys onto the little _glass-topped_ hall table confirms it.

Parnasse usually grasps the concept of Jehan’s handcrafted wire key rack, having finally been at the receiving end of enough of Jehan’s “It’s you or the table, Parnasse” threats - “there can only be scratches on one of you, and whilst it’s my table, it’ll never be your back.” Only a stroppy Parnasse would indulge in such blatant self-sabotage.

Parnasse lets the door to Jehan’s bedroom fall shut noisily behind him, and Jehan’s lips twitch, the involuntary beginnings of a smile. He finds himself wishing for the good old days at the beginning of their courtship - Parnasse hates the word, but it perfectly fits the months of dancing around one another they did, and Jehan takes his word choice seriously - when Parnasse would appear silently from behind a pillar in the quad, or at Jehan’s elbow as he queued at the front desk in the library; when Jehan would look up from a book, halfway through a cup of tea, to find Parnasse sitting across the cafe table from him, with no idea how long he had been there; when Parnasse would say little, letting Jehan fill the near silence of their early encounters with nervous chatter.

When he's working, Jehan sometimes misses the silent stalking panther, particularly when faced instead with the hungry demanding housecat Parnasse can become when bored.

Parnasse passes close by the desk and Jehan ignores the sinful, and certainly deliberate, swing of his hips with practiced determination.

“Quiet night?” Jehan asks, as Parnasse sits heavily on the bed behind him. They still don’t talk about Parnasse’s work, whatever it is - Jehan has given up pushing to find out, for now - but he can occasionally extract an answer to a very vague line of questioning, if Parnasse is feeling talkative.

“Deathly,” Parnasse answers, then reconsiders. “Actually, that sounds far too interesting. Absolutely nothing going. I was bored shitless.”

Jehan makes a sympathetic noise, but he does not turn away from the desk.

There is some quiet unzipping as Parnasse gently eases off his boots. Jehan’s furniture may casually be at the mercy of Parnasse’s mood swings, but never Parnasse’s shoes. Once the boots are stored in the specifically cleared spot in Jehan’s dresser, Parnasse’s every move seems amplified. Remarkably, his footfalls are louder, even though he is now in his stocking feet.

Parnasse stomps about the room, undressing further. He is careful to hang everything up, but the books scattered across the bed get no such consideration when he spills onto it and them, sighing loudly.

There is the rustling of pages for a few minutes, as Parnasse flicks through a few of them. 

He must gather them up, because the large thump that follows is certainly more than one book hitting the floor.

The noise is entirely an effort to attract Jehan’s attention, and Jehan knows he should ignore him, but he can’t help but take a quick glance. He’s so cute when he's moody. Jehan says so.

"I am not cute," Parnasse objects. "I am elegantly mercurial."

 _Elegantly mercurial_ , Jehan writes it down. Someone's been amusing himself with Jehan's thesaurus. He likes it.

"And bored. Jehan, come to bed."

"I will. In a moment. This sonnet will not finish itself."

"Ugghh, Jehan,” Parnasse groans, dramatically. “Your sonnet won't go anywhere."

"Neither will you," Jehan counters.

"Oh?" Parnasse raises both his head and a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "And you know this, do you?"

"Yes," Jehan affirms, throwing a tiny smirking smile over his shoulder at Parnasse. "If you haven't the drive to get up to pester me, I highly doubt you have plans of energy expenditure of any kind."

"Mercurial, remember, babe? But you might be right. This time." Parnasse flops back onto the bed with a loud sigh.

"Mm hm," Jehan agrees. "And don't call me 'babe'," he adds, ignoring the thrill he feels at the word.

"Don't call me cute," Parnasse retorts.

"Oh, look. Full circle," Jehan observes, whilst scratching out one line and switching the tense of another.

"Does this mean we stop?" Parnasse asks hopefully. "And you come to bed," he mumbles into the pillow.

"Circles never stop. I think that is their whole purpose," Jehan muses.

"Does that mean we'll never stop?" Parnasse asks, his speech clearer. The intent in his voice makes Jehan turn around in his chair.

Parnasse is sitting up. His posture is lazy, but his gaze is focused. Jehan does not answer him, but he does blush prettily.

Turning back to his desk, Jehan tidies his scraps of paper into some kind of order and brings his mostly finished sonnet to bed with him. He scrambles over Montparnasse, to his side of the bed, and burrows down under the sheets and crocheted quilt.

He makes Parnasse read his sonnet to him, and Parnasse gives a put upon sigh, but complies. They both know he loves the sound of his own voice, and Jehan is rather partial to it too. 

Jehan rewrites it mid-recital, until, after his sixth delivery, Parnasse refuses to relinquish the thick sheet of writing paper. He stashes it on his bedside table, but he does not confiscate Jehan's pen.

And if tomorrow Parnasse wakes up to a pattern of different sized sharpie circles spread across his shoulder and down his upper arm, well, it is _possible_ Jehan is a sleep doodler, but they are pretty precise circles.

**Author's Note:**

> I was kind of terrified of writing Parnasse (gosh, he'd love that, wouldn't he?). But I did it anyway. If anyone wants to shout at me, that's okay. Constructive shouting is preferred, though. I'm still getting to grips with him. I'm happy for any feedback.
> 
> Title inspired from a line from John Green's The Fault In Our Stars.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
